


Maize Runner

by cellostiel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Chefs, Chef!Derek, M/M, actor!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:50:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellostiel/pseuds/cellostiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Pleasure to meet you." he says in a professional tone, and Stiles tries (see: fails) not to stare as he shakes the man's hand. Derek Hale is fucking <i>gorgeous</i>. He has that gentle mountain man look to him, like he could split a log with his bare hands then make you a mean cup of cocoa while you snuggle up in front of the fire.</p>
<p>"Uh, yeah, me too. I mean, good to meet you." Stiles says eloquently. That gets Derek's polite smile to twitch a bit into something a little more genuine, but only for a moment before he steps back. Stiles curses how clichéd he's being by missing the warmth of Derek's hand in his.</p>
<p>Wow, he's like, super screwed. </p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Stiles is an actor getting ready for his next role. Over the next six months he has to eat right and work at the gym to build an action-movie worthy bod. Enter Derek Hale, professional chef hired to cook all of Stiles' meals for the next six months. Swoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maize Runner

**Author's Note:**

> So it's my best friend's birthday today, & I couldn't get the presents I made her to her time, so instead I wrote a (almost) 4k fic! It was meant to be more of a 1k or so drabble, but, well, that didn't happen. Based on this prompt:  
> (AU - I'm a famous actor and you’re a surly but passionate personal chef that I hired because my agent wants me to eat healthier and work out to build body mass for my next role, but I can’t cook to save a life. you seem to not know me or care in the slightest but I really want to get to know you for a multitude of reasons: you’re hot like burning, your food is like orgasm in my mouth, and because you genuinely fascinate me and I want to know your story au.) from [this post.](http://ladydrace.tumblr.com/post/105078471453/random-aus-that-i-just-need-okay)
> 
> It's not as well-developed as I'd like, and I definitely would have liked to have some more Scott and Lydia in there, but I just didn't have the time. May go back & edit this at some point, but really, I'm just glad I finished it. Go me!
> 
> (also I'm so sorry about the title I couldn't think of anything so I went for a corn pun /shrug)

"Ugh, Lyds, _whyyyyy?"_

"Because they're going to replace you with a Hemsworth if you don't get your shit together and build some muscle."

"And what exactly does that have to do with hiring a personal chef?" Stiles questions, sitting upside-down on the couch.

"Everyone knows the key to a successful workout plan is a good diet." Lydia says. She's sitting at the kitchen island a few feet away, fiddling with her phone.

"Really? _Everyone_ knows that?" Stiles asks, narrowing his eyes at her. "That feels like something you just made up. You made that up, didn't you? You just want to make me feel bad about my cooking. Or is it the chef? Are they hot? They're really hot, aren't they? You just wanna ogle some hot dude or chick while they slave over a hot stove." He's rambling, but he can blame it on the blood rushing to his head.

"You've caught me, Stiles." Lydia says dryly, looking at him over her phone. "I don't care about your nutrition at all, I just want a hot piece of eye candy to cook things for you. I'm a terrible person."

"Somehow I don't find your confession sincere." Lydia rolls her eyes and goes back to her phone, thumbs tapping away.

"He should be here soon."

"How soon?"

"I think that's his car pulling into the driveway."

"What?!" Stiles flails off the couch, looks down at the ratty T-shirt and boxers he's wearing. Definitely not first-impression material. "Why didn't you warn me sooner?"

"I figured it would be better to let him see how much of an embarrassing loser you are early on and shatter any delusions you might have of looking cool in front of him."

"You're the worst!" Stiles yells as he runs to his room.

"You'll thank me later!" Lydia calls as the doorbell rings.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Stiles curses, grabbing a pair of plain grey pajama bottoms and switching out his tee for one of his less garbage graphic tees. As he heads back to the living room, he peeks at his shirt to see what he grabbed. Guardians of the Galaxy, nice.

"Oh yes, that's _so_ much better than what you had on." Lydia says when she sees him. Stiles shoots her a glare, but almost immediately he's distracted by the man sitting at the island with her. "Derek, this is the doofus you'll be cooking for. Stiles, this is Derek Hale." Derek stands to step towards him, extending a hand.

"Pleasure to meet you." he says in a professional tone, and Stiles tries (see: fails) not to stare as he shakes the man's hand. Derek Hale is fucking _gorgeous._ He has that gentle mountain man look to him, like he could split a log with his bare hands then make you a mean cup of cocoa while you snuggle up in front of the fire.

"Uh, yeah, me too. I mean, good to meet you." Stiles says eloquently. That gets Derek's polite smile to twitch a bit into something a little more genuine, but only for a moment before he steps back. Stiles curses how clichéd he's being by missing the warmth of Derek's hand in his.

Wow, he's like, super screwed.

They all sit down at the island, and Derek launches right into the meal plan Stiles will be sticking to for the next six months while he gets ready for the movie.

"Most of it will be pre-made, you just have to follow the instructions to reheat it and it'll be good to go." Derek explains, a colorful chart laid out in front of him. "I'll be making your meals on a weekly basis, stopping by every Saturday evening to drop off the next week's meals. They'll be color coded by day, then labelled with when to eat them. I expect the containers to be washed and ready for me to pick up when I drop off the new meals."

"Yeah, I think I can handle that." Stiles says distractedly, reading over the chart. He'd been afraid that all his meals would be some weird, fancy French shit he wouldn't recognize, but so far it's all pretty normal. "Dude, I get to have mac and cheese?!"

"Occasionally. Along with a large helping of vegetables and a vitamin drink. No adding bacon to it. In fact, don't add anything to any of the meals. You can use salt and pepper as you see fit, but no bacon, no garlic, no seasonings, and no condiments not provided with the meals."

"And no junk food." Lydia adds.

"At all?" Stiles asks, looking up at her.

"At all." she confirms.

"Not even as like a treat for doing really well? Or a- a cheat day or something?"

"Not even the dust at the bottom of a Dorito bag. Starting today."

"What? That's outrageous!"

"It's necessary."

"Damn it, Lyds! If I'd known you were gonna cut me off, I'd have been savoring everything! Now I'm not gonna get a proper goodbye!"

"Stop being a baby. You knew full well when you took the role that you'd have to go on a diet."

"I didn't know I'd have to give it up completely!"

"I'm sure we can work something out." Derek cuts in softly. "Maybe a small reward at the end of the month for sticking to the plan."

"No. You give him an inch and he'll take a goddamned mile. No junk food. End of discussion."

Stiles slumps in his seat, crossing his arms and pouting. Derek gives him a look that might be sympathy, but it's gone as quick as it came, and Derek turns back to the chart, going on with his spiel.

When he's done, he gets Stiles to help him bring in the food. The cold stuff's in a large cooler, and there's a box of healthy snacks and powdered drink mixes. Derek sets everything out on the counter and tasks Stiles with sorting them before turning to Stiles' fridge. Stiles is so absorbed in his task that he doesn't notice Derek emptying his fridge until it's more than half empty.

"Hey, hey, hold up, what're you doing?" he asks, putting his hand on the door. Derek looks up from where he's basically emptying Stiles' cheese drawer into the cooler.

"I need to make room for the meals. Besides, none of this stuff is going to keep for six months. Don't worry, though, I'm not going to just throw it out; it'll be put to good use."

Stiles can't exactly argue with that, so he settles for grumbling unhappily as he sorts the meals. He tries to argue again when Derek goes for his junk food, but a glare from Lydia shuts him up.

Still, when Derek is filling up the now emptied snack box, Stiles whines, "Man, do you know how hard I had to look for those Moon Pies? I had to special order them from Amazon." Derek, the asshole, just smiles and puts them in the box.

With his kitchen cleaned out of all junk food, Stiles watches miserably as Derek loads it all into his car, then opens up a meal to demonstrate how to heat them up.

Lydia smacks his arm as he sits down, Derek at the counter plating the food. "Stop acting like a brat. You got yourself into this mess, now you have to deal with it."

"But Lyds, what if it's gross? Healthy shit's always gross."

"Do you really think I'd have hired someone whose cooking I hadn't personally vetted? This guy can cook, Stiles. Believe me, in a minute you'll be kissing my feet, wondering how you ever doubted me."

"Mhm, sure, whatever you say."

Derek sets the food in front of him, taking the seat to his right. There's a challenge in his eye as he hands Stiles a fork, and Stiles feels a little bad for trashing the guy's food within earshot. Only a little, though.

He sticks his fork into the pasta, ignoring both of their stares as he shovels a bite into his mouth.

Okay, now he feels a lot bad for trashing the guy's food because this shit is _amazing._ Like, mind blowing. He doesn't even have the words to describe- jesus, if this is what his food's like _reheated,_ Stiles can't imagine how good it must be fresh.

"I'm going to take a stab in the dark and guess those noises you're making are good." Lydia says, smirking when Stiles feels his face heat up.

"This is really good." he says through a mouthful.

"You're disgusting." Lydia says. "Swallow your fucking food, jesus."

"This is really fucking good." Stiles says to Derek. The guy looks both pleased and disgusted. Stiles loves it.

 

~

 

Derek shows up at Stiles' workout, sometimes, to make him an after workout snack. Stiles could question why Derek doesn't just drop off something premade either with his assistant or with the weekly drop, but as soon as he takes a bite of Derek's cooking he stops caring.

"Oh my god dude, this is just-" Stiles cuts himself off with a series of noises that could be embarrassing, but with what is essentially an edible orgasm in his mouth, he finds it hard to care.

"Glad you like it." Derek says, working on something for himself.

"Can I hire you to cook everything for me ever? With the added plus of junk food?"

"If you can afford it." Derek laughs, flipping his food.

"Dude, if this movie does even half as well as everyone's expecting it to, I'm not gonna have to worry about money for a _long_ time."

"Hm… I'll think about it." Derek surprises Stiles by saying. "If I can still stand you after six months, that is."

"Ha, good luck! Those who can stand me for extended periods of time are few and far between."

"I'm sure." Derek plates his food, then sits at the table, taking a bite and chewing it, unfazed. Stiles gawks.

"How do you do that?" Stiles asks. "Do you like, not have taste buds or something?"

"Of course I do. I'm just less expressive than you." Derek lifts a teasing eyebrow, and Stiles finds himself wondering how expressive Derek would be with Stiles' mouth on his neck and his hands on his hips.

Stiles shoves more food in his mouth to distract himself. It doesn't really help.

 

~

 

The training for Maze Runner is fucking brutal. At the end of the day Stiles doesn't go to bed so much as he collapses into it, passing out. On the bright side, it doesn't give him any time to fantasize about his ridiculously hot chef.

Which, you know, is a good thing. It means a lot less awkwardness and embarrassment around Derek, and really, it's probably better if he doesn't let his crush develop too much. Derek is hot, funny, and a fucking amazing cook, but he doesn't seem all that interested in getting to know Stiles. Sure, he'll chat with him a bit sometimes while they're eating, but never anything too personal. Stiles has tried to pry, but he's so fucking wiped from boot camp that he doesn't have the energy to do too much digging.

Conversely, Stiles is a fucking open book. Between bites he offers up anything and everything about himself he can think of. He tells Derek about how he met Scott, how Scott was the one that he skipped school with to go to some stupid audition that ended up being Stiles' big break. He talks about how Lydia, a Junior at the time, had insisted on being Stiles' manager, and Stiles had never even considered hiring anyone else.

He tells Derek about the crappy stuff, too, like how hard it was when his mom died, and how his first boyfriend outed him to the media just to get his fifteen minutes of fame. How hard it was for him sometimes, being in such a harsh business so young. Derek listens, nodding at certain parts and giving sympathetic looks at others, but he never offers comments, never asks questions, never engages in the conversation. Like he's just humoring Stiles.

Eh, he'll take what he can get.

 

~

 

The last thing Stiles expects to show up at his door at two in the morning is Derek Hale drunk off his ass.

"Laura got me drunk." he says, words slurring.

"Laura?" Stiles asks.

"M'sister." Derek is leaning heavily against the door frame. "Thought I was stressing out too much about… something. Started lecturing me so I came home." He pauses, squints at the door, at Stiles. Asks, "Why are you at my house?"

"Because it's my house, doofus." Stiles says. Derek blinks at him.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Derek looks at the ground, brow pinched. Stiles chews his lip, watching him.

"Do you… wanna come in?" he offers. Derek looks up at him so fast that he sways on his feet, and Stiles reaches out to catch him by his shirt.

"I don't wanna- I'm not gonna- I'm drunk, Stiles." Derek says.

"Yeah, I get that." Stiles laughs.

"I mean-" Derek stops, squeezes his eyes shut, looks like he's really concentrating as he says, "I'm too drunk to sleep with you, Stiles."

"What? Jesus, that's not- that's not what I was suggesting at all." Stiles lets go of Derek, then immediately grabs him again when he almost falls over. "I was gonna offer you a glass of water and a couch to crash on, actually."

"Oh. That- that sounds good." Derek's face is red, but Stiles graciously ignores it as he leads Derek inside.

"Okay, you just sit here," he says, gently pushing Derek onto the couch. "And I'm gonna get you some water."

"Okay."

Stiles pats his shoulder and goes to the kitchen. When he returns, Derek is slumped over on the couch, his face smushed into the arm rest in a less than comfortable fashion.

"You okay there, buddy?" Stiles asks. Derek makes some unintelligible noises, and Stiles squats in front of him, setting the glass down on the side table. "What was that, bud?" Grunting, Derek turns his head enough to speak semi-clearly.

"Your couch smells nice."

"Can't imagine how. Do you know how many times I've basically lived on that thing, in nothing but week-old boxers?"

"Still smells nice." Derek mumbles, almost defensively. "Smells like you."

"Oh. That's… sweet? Creepy, but sweet. I guess."

"Hm." Derek shoves his face back in the couch.

"Derek?" Derek doesn't move. "Hey, Derek." Stiles puts his hand on Derek's shoulder, shaking him lightly. "You still with me, buddy?"

"Mn." Derek shifts, peeks out at Stiles from under his bangs. He looks far more adorable than he has any right to be.

"You wanna drink some water?" Derek nods meekly. "You need help sitting up?" Derek nods again, just as meek. "Okay." Stiles helps him up, then lifts the glass and helps him take a drink.

"I can do it." Derek says petulantly, grabbing the glass.

"If you say so." Stiles lets him take the glass, but keeps his hand on the bottom until he's sure Derek has it.

"Thank you." Derek says, looking down into the glass.

"No problem." Stiles gets up and sits next to him on the couch. "That's what friends do."

"Friends?" Derek's brow furrows.

"Uh, yeah? I dunno, I consider us friends."

"Oh."

"You say that a lot when you're drunk."

"Yeah." Derek stares at the far wall, blinking slowly, and Stiles almost asks if he's okay again when he says, "You think we're friends?"

"Well, yeah." Stiles rubs his neck self-consciously. "Don't you?"

Derek turns to look at him, silent for so long that Stiles starts to squirm. "Yeah. I… yeah. Okay." Stiles grins.

"Cool." he says. Derek grins back goofily.

"I like cooking for you, Stiles." Derek admits. "I like watching you eat my food, seeing how much you enjoy it."

"Well, I like eating your food." Stiles returns, not quite meeting Derek's eye. "You're a fantastic cook, Derek."

"I know." Derek says seriously, and Stiles cracks up.

"Well, that's good. Wouldn't want that ego to go hungry." Stiles chuckles, leaning back against the couch. He looks at Derek, who's looking back at him with his head rested against the back of the couch and a small smile on his face. Stiles has the incredible urge to lean forward and kiss him. It feels like that kind of private moment, where Stiles could just press their lips together, and Derek would cup his face in his hand, and they'd trade slow, lazy kisses until one of them grew too tired, and they'd go to Stiles' room and curl up under the covers and fall asleep wrapped up in each other.

But Derek is drunk, and he doesn't like Stiles that way, and Derek is _drunk._ So Stiles stands and says, "I'm gonna get you a pillow and some blankets, okay? You work on that water."

When he comes back, Derek is sprawled out on the couch, shoes kicked off and glass empty on the coffee table. Stiles smiles to himself and drapes a blanket over Derek, then gently nudges his head until he lifts it enough for Stiles to wedge the pillow under it.

"You need anything else, bud?" Stiles asks, smoothing the blanket over Derek's shoulders.

"Nh." Derek grunts, shaking his head.

"Okay, then. I'm gonna head to bed. I'm right down the hall if you need anything, and the kitchen's right there if you need to puke."

"M'kay. Night, Stiles."

"Night, Derek." Stiles heads to his room, reaching to turn off the light before leaving the living room.

"Thanks, Stiles." Derek murmurs.

"No problem, Derek." Stiles smiles softly into the dark for a moment, then disappears into his room.

 

~

 

Stiles wakes up to the the smell of bacon, and he almost breaks his neck in his haste to get out of bed.

"Bacon?" he shouts, sliding into the kitchen. He just narrowly catches himself on the counter and avoids a tragic and painful hip check.

"Not so loud, _please."_ Derek groans. Stiles has to physically shake himself to make sure he's not dreaming. Then he discretely pinches himself. Nope, not a dream. Derek Hale is in his kitchen, sleepy and hung over in a wrinkled shirt and jeans, cooking him bacon. This is real life, right here, and it is _amazing._

"Dude, are you seriously cooking me bacon? Man, if you're screwing with me, I'm gonna be so pissed."

"I needed something greasy." Derek says. "And I wanted to thank you for helping me last night."

"Where'd you even find that? I thought you took all my junk food."

"I hid it near the back, figured it would be a nice surprise at the end of three months."

"I thought Lydia said no junky treats?" Stiles hops upon the counter, watching as Derek checks the bacon in the oven.

"Yeah, well, I figured you deserved it." Derek sends him a shy smile as he removes the tray, and it's taking every ounce of self-control Stiles has not to jump him then and there.

"Man, this is like, my all-time fantasy, you know? Hot dude making me bacon for breakfast? My frail heart flutters, Mr. Hale." Stiles adds in some waggling eyebrows for added effect, and Derek ducks his head to hide a smile.

"Just wait until you try them." Derek says, placing the tray on the stove. Stiles grins and reaches for a piece, but Derek slaps his hand away. "I said _wait."_

"Aw, come on! It smells so _good."_ Stiles bounces excitedly, and Derek laughs.

"Just give it a minute to cool."

"But I'm hungry _now!"_ Stiles whines.

"God, you're impatient."

"You only realize this now?"

Derek snorts, moving to the fridge to take out the day's breakfast. As he goes about heating it up, Stiles picks at the loose threats in his pajama bottoms.

"So you have a sister?" he asks finally. Derek pauses for a brief moment, glancing over at him.

"I do."

"She take you out to get drunk often?"

"Only when I'm being a stubborn ass." Derek says, smiling slightly. "And she's right. I've been holding myself back from something that will make me happy."

"Why's that?"

"Well, I thought it might be unprofessional, considering he's a client. And I was afraid I'd be distracting him. He's got this big movie coming up that he's working hard to be ready for, and I don't want to wreck that."

Stiles stills his hand over the bacon, in the middle of stealing a piece, and he stares at Derek in awe.

"Uh."

"If it makes him uncomfortable, though, I'll understand. I have plenty of colleagues who would be very capable replacements, and he'd never have to see me again."

"You, uh, you think he wants that?"

"I don't know." Derek pokes dejectedly at the eggs in the pan in front of him.

"So, uh, just so we're clear, this guy - this client - you're talking about, it's, uh-"

"It's you."

"Oh."

Derek steals a glance at him, quickly looking back to the pan and taking it off the heat.

"I, uh, I can go." Derek says, gripping the counter. "If you want."

"Dude, oh my god, stop freaking out and fucking kiss me already." Derek looks up at him in surprise, and Derek grabs him by the shirt and tugs him closer. "I'm serious, Derek. You're like, the best guy I've ever met. Second to Scott, but, y'know, that's _Scott._ Kinda hard to beat. But I just, I wanna climb you like a tree but I also wanna talk with you until three a.m. and snuggle with you under covers while we watch some cheesy romcom and I wanna fuck your brains out then have your fucking heavenly scrambled eggs for breakfast. I want all of you. So stop worrying about whether I like you back or you're bothering me or what the fuck ever and suck my goddamn face off!"

A slow smile breaks out on Derek's face, soft and just a bit uncertain, before he leans forward and presses their lips together.

Stiles spends the morning debating whether Derek's kisses or his cooking is better. For a while kissing takes the lead, but the bacon does make quite a compelling argument.

 

~

 

Almost a year later, when Stiles walks the red carpet to the premier of his movie, it's with the hottest and best rising chef on his arm. As they settle into their seats in the theater, Derek leans over and kisses his boyfriend's cheek.

"I'm so proud of you." he murmurs, his grin just barely visible in the dimming theater. Stiles grins back.

"I'm so glad I met you."

"Me, too."


End file.
